Angel
by BasketKiwi
Summary: Angela Sheehen and David Clohessy had a past, one mentioned briefly in Frank McCourt's memoir, but surely an important one. This is my interpretation. : Based on Angela's Ashes by Frank McCourt.


_A/N: Okay. Last one. This is a fanfiction based on "Angela's Ashes" by Frank McCourt. _This was done for an English project, too!_ (Yes, I agree, we have much too many of those.) I actually liked this one a lot because it's very different from what I usually do. But I usually _do_ like stuff just after I've written it (this was for the most recent project), so I'll probably hate this in a week or so. (n.n) **I don't own any of the setting or characters, just the arrangement of them.** The parts in the middle are the few pages this story was inspired by. It takes place during the time before Angela left for America. Dennis Clohessy was mentioned twice, maybe a few more times in the book, and this was the only time he had dialogue, I think, but that part of the book really touched me. So, yeah. Just as in "Turned To Stone", the parts in italics with (pg. whatever) afterwards are excerpts. _

**Angel**

Based on "Angela's Ashes" by Frank McCourt

"Jesus, Mary, and Holy St. Joseph!" Dennis Clohessy heard distantly. His head jerked up and he glanced behind him, but he was alone on the dark road, the light drizzle slowly progressing into a good Limerick shower. Burying his hands deeper into his pockets, he kept on walking.

"After all that, and now it's all going to be ruined! Jesus, Mary, and Holy St. bloody Joseph!" Dennis froze and raised his head. Where was that voice coming from? Was it getting louder...? "Erm, pardon the language, Lord, I'm only frustrated. Didn't mean anything against your father. Er – your earthly father - That is... Oh, Jesus, Mary, and Holy St. Joseph!"

Dennis took a few steps forward and peeked around the edge of a large building, the bricks already being dotted with rain. There, in the alley, stood a girl. Well, a young woman, anyway. She had long dark hair that was slightly frizzy and dotted with small drops. Hunched over a small packet of fish and chips, he could tell by the dislodged dirt at her feet that she'd been stomping her foot rather adamantly. Oddly enough, she had no coat, though it was almost November and there was a chill in the air; her clothes were worn, but not threadbare. She looked a bit familiar, but that may have been because she was a bit plain looking; there were a hundred others like her in the few kilometers surrounding his lane.

"Erm, hello," Dennis said eloquently, stepping into the alley. The girl's – er, young woman's – head snapped up. Dennis immediately dismissed his earlier thoughts. Perhaps there were others on his lane with mousy hair and a short stature, but surely none of them had eyes like those. Surely no on else in the world had eyes like that: blue, but not quite blue. More like... _Sapphire_, Dennis decided. _Definitely like sapphires. _

_

* * *

"Who's that? and Paddy tells him, 'Tis Frank McCourt._

_Mr. Clohessy says, McCourt? What class of a name is that? _

_My father is from the North, Mr. Clohessy. _

_And what's your mother's name? _

_Angela, Mr. Clohessy. _

_Ah, Jaysus, 'twouldn't be Angela Sheehan, would it? _

_'Twould Mr. Clohessy." _(pg. 164)

* * *

"Hello," she said, her eyes narrowing slightly as she shoved the fish and chips behind her back. "Whatcha doin' out on the streets this late?" she inquired suspiciously. Dennis's ire was up in an instant.

"Well, excuse me, but you don't own the lanes, so you don't." His eyebrows furrowed together in anger. "At least I'm not standing around in alleyways with no coat in the middle of a shower, blaspheming and probably hiding _stolen_ fish and chips!"

The girl's mouth dropped open. "Ex_cuse_ me? _Stolen_? Now who's makin' presumptions, Mister? Eh? It just so happens I've just finished work and stopped to get fish and chips for me brother on his _birthday_, wouldn't you know, when this shameful man straight out of the Dispensary comes trumpin' up to me, blatherin' on about wanting my coat! So of course I threw it off and ran, afraid for me life of getting the Consumption or raped or some such horror, and _now_ it starts to rain, o' course, and me having lost the newspaper when I ran off and now I've nothing for to cover the fish and chips! And poor Ab, it's not his fault he can't take the exam to become a permanent telegram boy, for can you blame him for being thrown about by my arse of a father? No, ye cannot and it doesn't matter anyway because he can count money better than the Chancellor of the Exchequer himself, and everyone loves him and always comes to him for their newspapers, so they do! Jesus. Mary. Bloody Joseph!" Dennis blinked.

She stood there, panting and sobbing and holding the fish and chips out in the middle of a wild gesture and she quickly crossed herself and murmured what he guessed was an apology under her breath. The rain was falling, even in the middle of the alley, and he didn't know what to do.

"I'm – I am sorry. Ah, Jaysus. I've a short fuse is all. Here, take my jacket." Dennis slunk out of his coat and walked over to her, putting it around her shoulders awkwardly. "No one likes soggy chips, ya know..."

"Angela," she finished. "Angela Sheehan."

"Angela."

_

* * *

"Ah, Jaysus, he says, and he has a coughing fit which brings up all kinds of stuff from his insides and has him hanging over the bucket. When the cough passes he falls back on the pillow. Ah, Frankie, I knew your mother well. Danced with her, Mother o' Christ, I'm dying inside, danced with her I did below in the Wembley Hall and a champion dancer she was too._

_He hangs over the bucket again. He gasps for air and reaches his arms out to get it. He suffers but he won't stop talking. _

_Champion dancer she was, Frankie. Not skinny mind you but a feather in my arms and there was many a sorry man when she left Limerick." _(pg. 164)

* * *

"Angela! Hey, Angela!" Dennis jogged up to the quickly pacing young woman and put his hand on her shoulder.

"Toe, hop toe, hop back two three?" she blurted, turning to face him with a glazed look in her eyes.

Dennis laughed and rolled his eyes. "Dance class's over, Angel. Jaysus, yeer head's been in those filthy clouds ever since Mrs. Murray told us about Wembley Hall."

Angela shook her head and rolled her eyes as well, turning and continuing her way to the chippie they went to every Saturday after dance. Dennis followed her, his hands stuffed into his pockets. "I _have_ to concentrate on dancing if I'm ever to get to Wembley and you'd do best to follow my example, not berate me for my dedication." Her mouth twitched slightly.

"You know I want it just as much as you do, Angel." Dennis bumped into her shoulder playfully, but she had stopped walking. She grabbed his arm and turned him to face her.

"What did you just call me?" Her eyes were narrowed - never a good sign – and Dennis could feel his face starting to flush. He lightly pulled his arm from her grasp and kept walking.

"Um, that would be Angela?" he said slowly, as if talking to a child. "As in, yer name? Or have you forgotten with all yeer 'toe hop toe' and all that?" She was walking again, _Thank you heavenly Father_, and was easily distracted by the change of the conversation to dancing. He really did know her too well.

Still, there was a faint rosiness to her cheeks that Dennis told himself had not been there before.

_"

* * *

Mr. Clohessy says Who's at the door?_

_It's my mother, Mr. Clohessy. _

_God above, is that Angela? _

_'Tis, Mr. Clohessy. _

_He struggles up on his elbows. Well, for the love of God, will you come in, Angela. Don't you know me? _

_Mam looks puzzled. It's dark in the room and she tries to make out who is in the bed. He says, 'Tis me, Dennis Clohessy, Angela. _

_Ah, no. _

_'Tis, Angela. _

_Ah, no." _(pg. 167)

* * *

Dennis was sweating in places he didn't know you could sweat in, but he'd never felt so exhilarated in his life. Almost never. _Okay, big finish._ He turned to Angela and lifted her into his arms as easy as you please, setting her down and twirling her around as they turned to face the judges and finish with a synchronized stomp. _Perfect_.

Dennis's breath was coming in pants, and his chest was rising and falling quickly. A glance to his right told him Angela was no better off, though he thought it should be illegal for anyone to smile that widely. A glance in the nearest judge's spectacles told him that his grin was just as big. There was clapping, clapping behind then, before them, under them and all around him, but it was fuzzy and faint like that first _Jesus, Mary, and Holy St. Joseph._

Dennis and Angela bowed - the applause was a din, somewhere and everywhere in the room, or maybe around the corner? down the street? - before they walked off the floor, still hand in hand. Through the door and into the hallway; already the music was on and the next couple dancing, but no one could beat _that_, them, what they'd just done, and they both knew it and so did the judges, though they didn't matter quite so much right now.

The hall was empty and Dennis let out a deep breath before collapsing to the floor. "Jaysus, I think I've popped a lung!"

Angela's laughter was shorter and breathier, but still hers, and she lay down a few feet beside him. "You're such a baby, ya know that?"

"Am not," he said, purposely adding a whining lilt. Angela laughed again.

"So I guess this means we don't have to dance outside the chippie to earn enough sixpence to actually get in." She turned her head on the floor to face him.

He did the same. "Well, now that we're about to be The Grandest Champions Of Dance in all of Limerick, we can go in and eat for free. We'd be makin' the place look good, really. In fact, soon we'll be The Grandest Champions Of Dance in all of _Ireland_ and they'll be paying us to come in and show people the kind of respectable folk go into their chippie."

Angela looked at him for a moment before laughing once again, harder now that she had her breath back. "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!" Dennis closed his eyes. "You've been readin' too many of those American magazines Ab lets you borrow."

"Nah. I don't read the American magazines, only the good ol' Irish ones. And none o' that Protestant, free masons shite either." Dennis smiled proudly, but it faltered. He opened his eyes. Something was wrong.

"Me mam wants me to go to America," Angela whispered, looking searchingly into his eyes.

_

* * *

"I know, Angela. I'm changed. The cough is killin' me. But I remember the nights at the Wembley Hall. Aw, Jaysus, you were a great dancer. Nights at the Wembley Hall, Angela, and the fish and chips after. Oh, boys, oh, boys, Angela."_

_My mother has tears coming down her face. She says, You were a great dancer yourself, Dennis Clohessy. _

_We could have won competitions, Angela. Fred and Ginger would have been lookin' over their shoulders but you had to run off to America. Aw, Jaysus."_ (pg. 167)

* * *

Dennis sat up. "And why is that?" he demanded.

Angela sighed and sat up as well. "I – I can't find work, Dennis. I know, I know, it's not my job to, but Ab can only do so much and everyone else is up and gone or too young to work. I've got to do _something_, Dennis, I can't stay here in Limerick all my life, waiting for a husband or something better to come along! My mother's been savin' for the fare."

Dennis gulped. She was serious. "Angel, there's all sorts o' work you could get in Limerick! Don't you already have one doin' that...door-openin' thing? With the maid outfit? I thought you were earning a full pound a week!"

Angela groaned and fell back to the ground. "Dennis, no. I was fired a fortnight ago. I couldn't do that...stupid curtsy thing they wanted me to. I tried being a charwoman for that office building, but I caught the trash bin on fire. Twice." She lifted her hand to silence him as he opened his mouth. "Don't ask. Dennis, I couldn't even be a _skivvy_ for Christ's sake! What kind of woman can't do that? It's only menial things, shite I've been doin' all my life! Me mother said I'm pure useless and should go to America where there's room for all sorts of uselessness."

"But – " Dennis spluttered for a second, "_dancing_, Angel! What about _dancing_?"

"Well, that's just it, isn't it?" She suddenly perked up and smiled at him. "If we win this, I'll have something under me belt. You can get any job you'd like in all of Limerick if you tell them you've just won a Wembley Hall feis. And we can win this! This is my last hope, Dennis. We _have_ to win this!"

She reached for his hand just as the judge with the glasses came striding importantly from the closed doors, into the hallway. He stepped up to an empty corkboard on the wall and pulled a tack from his jacket, pinning a sheet of paper onto the board. A crowd of people followed him eagerly to look at the paper, but Angela and Dennis stood back, hand in hand, knowing this was _it_.

Eventually the crowd cleared and they walked together to that tiny sheet of paper, gazing upon it with desperate eyes.

Angela started to cry. Her hand slipped from his. Dennis guessed it did matter what the judges thought after all.

She slipped away from him.

_

* * *

"Mam says, You'll be all right, Dennis. I'll light a candle for you._

_Save your money, Angela. My dancin' days are done. _

_I have to go now, Dennis. My son has to go to school. _

_Before you go, Angela, will you do one thing for me? _

_I will, Dennis, if 'tis in my power."_ (pg. 168)

* * *

"Angela, please, think about this," Dennis said gravely, putting a restraining hand on her arm. Angela shrugged it off and moved back to her dresser, pulling a few clothes and a small box out and putting it in the large leather suitcase on her bed.

"I _have_ thought about it, Dennis. It's all I've thought about for the last week and I am sick and tired of _thinking_, Dennis." She turned her eyes to lock with his, daring him to object. But all he could do was think, _Sapphire_.

"Don't go." He said plainly, trying to hold her gaze.

"Why not?" she asked, stubborn as always. Angela folded her arms across her chest and set her jaw. He was silent. "That's what I thought."

"No, wait, it's just...what am I supposed to say?" Dennis started to worry. He didn't know what to do. Angela couldn't leave. She _wouldn't_ leave. Buy _why not_? _Uh, oh,_ Dennis thought. He was getting scared. No, he was already terrified. Something was going to slip out. Something that shouldn't. "What do you want me to do? Lock you up? Grovel on my knees? Propose?"

Angela blinked. She opened her mouth and closed it, opened it and made a strangled noise.

"Because I can't do that," Dennis whispered, defeated. His head fell to his chest and his legs gave out; he landed on his knees. He wasn't ready. _I just need more _time

Angela took a deep breath and blinked a bit more. "I wouldn't ask you to, Dennis. I wouldn't ask you to do that." She knelt down on the floor next to him and leaned her back against her bed. "I wouldn't ask you to do that," she whispered.

They were silent for a long time.

_

* * *

"Would you ever give us a verse of that song you sang the night before you went to America?_

_That's a hard song, Dennis. I wouldn't have the wind for it. _

_Ah, come on, Angela. I never hear a song anymore. There isn't a song in this house. The wife there doesn't have a note in her head an' no step in her foot. _

_Mam says, All right. I'll try." _(pg. 168)

* * *

"_Mm hm mmm, mm hm hmm hmm_," Angela hummed.

"What's that you're humming?" Dennis lay on her bed, next to her, both staring at the ceiling and holding hands. The suitcase was packed, locked and had been kicked onto the floor. They had an hour till 8 PM when the train would come to take her away.

"Och, 'tis just a song I heard." Angela sighed and squeezed his hand. He squeezed it back.

"Sing it," he whispered. She sighed again.

_"Oh, the nights of Kerry dancing, Oh, the ring of the piper's tune, _

_Oh, for __one of those hours of gladness, gone, alas, like our youth too soon. _

_When the boys begin to gather in the glen of a Summer night, _

_And the Kerry piper's tuning, made us long with wild delight. _

_Oh, to think of it, Oh, to dream of it, fills my heart with tears. _

_Oh, the nights of the Kerry dancing, Oh, the ring of the piper's tune _

_Oh, for one of those hours of gladness, gone, alas, like our youth too soon." _

"...That's beautiful," he whispered, and turned to face her. She did the same.

"_Angela!"_ came the call from downstairs. Angela closed her eyes.

"Call me Angel," she commanded.

"...What...?" Dennis' eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"Call. Me. Angel," she said again, harsher.

Dennis gulped and rolled his eyes. "Angel."

"Softer," she ordered, moving closer.

"Angel," he said for the last time. "My Angel."

_

* * *

"We walk up Patrick Street and O'Connell Street, Paddy Clohessy and Mam and Michael and myself, and Mam sobs all the way. Michael says, Don't cry, Mammy. Frankie won't run away._

_She lifts him up and hugs him. Oh, no, Michael, 'tisn't Frankie I'm crying about. 'Tis Dennis Clohessy and the dancing nights at the Wembley Hall and the fish and chips after." _(pg. 169)


End file.
